


The incredible misadventures of Dark Storm and the Alchemist

by Cursed_Me



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternative Dimensions, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Prophecies, Science Fiction, Superheroes, Supervillains, all hail the glow cloud, always back up on a different location, but i love and cherish him anyways, chuck norris evil clones are mentioned but not important, kinda emo main character, marvin is a mess I swear, neural recorders might accidentally erase your memories, secret message in the tags: the hardest part of ending is starting again, the hero is a toll bean, two idiots trying to save the world, warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24520786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cursed_Me/pseuds/Cursed_Me
Summary: What happens when you take a not-so-sure-about-the-whole-evil-deal supervillain and his very tall superhero nemesis and use a prophecy to put them together to try and save the world? The answer is: probably nothing good, but at least it's (probably... hopefully) going to be fun to read. More of this story as it develops.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, Matt (not my real but my Starbucks given name) here with a couple of warnings before we start.  
> First of all: while I am sure I will keep writing this, I don't know exactly when (or if) I will continue with the posting. It all depends on how it goes and on the feedback I get.  
> Second: don't expect this to go too deep, because I am mostly trying to have some fun so yeah, there's that. But it also could go deep, depending on how I am feeling. I have an outline in mind, I swear, but I also tend to have little to no control on what comes out of my head so bear with me.  
> Third: English is not my native language, I am trying my best, but please let me know if you notice mistakes and/or if you have any advice on how to improve my writing. Any help is very welcome, really.  
> Fourth (and least but not last): special thanks to the wonderful @Cat_as_Trophy for her support and enthusiasm. Don't know what I'd do without you <3
> 
> That being said, I'll leave you to the first chapter, I hope you enjoy it and that you're having a nice day (or night if it's night) *:)

**_ Log of January 24th 2020, 11:55 pm, Marvin T. Blackwood _ **

**__ **

Ok so, there is this thing when you are a supervillain, that has kind of always really destabilized me: people expect you to be evil. Like, they actually think that’s a prerequisite, that you can’t pursue evil without being evil yourself.

That, in my opinion, is the honest to god final proof that people are completely fucking stupid.

I mean, just watch any, literally any movie with a villain and you’ll realize that most of them are not evil, just wrong: the Grinch thought that nobody was ever gonna love him, Megamind had been brainwashed into being evil since he was a child, and honestly, Thanos was just trying to help people to suffer less, even though playing God kind of fucked him up.

Really, the only thing every fucking villain has in common is defeat: every villain is a loser at heart… and that brings us to me, because I am the biggest loser of them all.

My name (my actual name) is Marvin (and that should explain a lot) but you probably know me as Dark Storm (chosen it when I was an angsty teenager, it sounded cool back then), or, I don’t know: the fire guy, maybe… because, you know, my powers are fire related.

Even if my powers or whatever are kinda top tier, I guess I am more of a brainy kind of villain: I like inventing gizmo, and my proudest achievement is this thingy I am using right now to record my thoughts because writing is boring and I don’t like talking very much, followed suit by my army of evil Chuck Norris clones.

My family was very embarrassed when I firstly introduced them as my minions… because yeah, that’s my main loser trait: I’m not in the business because I am evil (because I am not, I don’t think so at least), or because I have some tragic backstory that lead me to a life of crime convinced that I am somehow doing good, I am in the business because my family is. The Blackwoods have been supervillains for centuries, lurking in the shadows, fighting the light, plotting… and I am good at plotting, I even kinda like it, but I don’t understand why everything I plot has to be bad. I’ve never even wanted to be a villain: I wanted to be a writer… but that was never really an option. My mother died giving birth to me, and she was the one with the evil blood, and of her two siblings, one never married and the other married but didn’t have kids, so here I am, last heir of the most evil family of England, cursed with the weight of carrying out the family business when I honestly have never ever given 1 (one) single fuck about doing bad to the world, leaving a black mark in history or whatever.

Like I implied before, my family is very disappointed in me. Which is kinda why I am in therapy. Which is kinda why I am doing this… seriously, though, you should see our Christmas dinners: they keep reminding me how much they’ve done for me, granting me the best training a villain could hope for, giving me all the opportunities they never had, and _Marvin, Jesus fuck, you’re 23 and you still haven’t made it to the world news_ , and now I am 25, and I guess they are starting to give up and have began thinking about the next generation, because they’ve started to ask me when I am going to find a tragically beautiful bad girl and start making an army of new little Blackwoods. 

Sometimes I really want to lash out on them, because they keep treating me like I am an ungrateful little bitch, but they never mention how they’ve never allowed me to have friends, or the fact that because of them I have a case of PTSD so bad that I have to take pills to sleep, but I usually just let them talk.

I guess being the most nonconfrontational arse that ever walked on English soil is another thing that doesn’t exactly play in your favor when you’re supposed to be an antagonist. 

Actually, I did mention the pills thing to my father once. He just shrugged and literally said that _there’s no rest for the wicked_. So yeah, talking back doesn’t do much in this family.

For the rest, I am a pretty normal guy. I mean, when I am not engaged in evil deeds.

My family is shamefully rich, so I don’t really need to work, but I have never really cared much for money. 

I live in a small flat in London, close to Baker Street, with a black cat that I swear to god hates my guts. Her name is AK47, but I mostly just call her dude, or dipshit, or, like, Kay, so I don’t even think she knows that that’s her name. Mostly we try to acknowledge each other as little as possible and keep on a pacific coexistence. 

I don’t go out much. My neighbors must think that I am some kind of recluse, but the truth is I just don’t really have friends. I have my family. I have a therapist. I have people I know. I have a couple of henchpeople. I mostly spend my time in my room eating ice cream, watching Netflix, inventing useless shit and trying to plan enough crimes to stay on the _Great Britain Super Villain top 10_ for another year, even though they have been defining me _more chaotic than really evil_ since I was, like, 17.

I must have been a sight, back then. A short, blondish kid with dark, sad eyes, bagged up in black leather, engulfed in a wave of fire. I remember how scared and fucking angry I was. 

I was actually very young to have my debut on the scene: my family still thought I had talent, back then. I think most of England wasn’t as scared of me as they were sorry for me. _Young lad like that, such a clean pretty face, who knows what terrible thing has happened to make him stray like that_.

Nothing had happened except for my unfortunate birth in the evilest family ever, but they did not (and did not need to) know that. 

I’ve changed a lot since that: grew a few inches (just enough to be considered almost average instead than _shockingly short oh my god you look so much taller in pictures_ ), put on some muscle… the usual, but the tabloids still call me _the villain with the sad eyes_ , from time to time. 

So that’s it, I guess. That’s my life. 

I am a 25 years old not exactly tall blondish supervillain under the name of Dark Storm, my villain suit is black (thankfully I managed to ditch the leather after a few months), I have fire powers but mostly work with gizmo, and I guess you could say that I am kind of a nerd. I have a cat that despises me. I have my family that is very disappointed in me, I have a therapist that probably also despises me, I have people I know, I have a couple of henchpeople, and… well, I guess I have my army of evil Chuck Norris clones. 

And I have my nemesis, obviously: what kind of supervillain would I be if I didn’t have a superhero to fight?

He’s more or less my age (I guess that being both terribly young was what originally drew us “together”. Honestly, I am not even sure if he was out of the academy back then), he goes by _the Alchemist_ and… well, there’s no point denying it: he _is_ tragically beautiful.

I mean there’s only so much I can tell considering that every time we see each other he’s wearing a mask and a full body dark blue thing with a cape but he is so tall and his skin is this very nice shade of light brown and for what I can make out of his face, he does look cute.

He is, also, a remarkably good guy… because, you know: just as much as you don’t need to be evil to be a bad guy, you don’t need to be good to be a good guy, and honesty the hero industry is _really_ fucked up.

But he is… well. I am kinda required to keep tabs on him, as his nemesis, and he’s one of the few heroes that actually keeps quiet about his private life (I would still know if he was somehow caught up in drugs or something like that, I think) but from what I know (and I know enough) he’s literally one of the best people I know. 

Which is kinda bad, considering that I am his nemesis and that I am supposed to make his life hell. 

And this brings us back to me being the biggest losers of them all. 

I should probably stop self-deprecating so much: I’m pretty sure it’s not good for my confidence, or whatever. Not that you particularly need your confidence, when you have no friends and no social life to speak of, but still.

Wait is my phone ringing? My phone is ringing. Why the fuck is my phone ringing? Nobody has this number but my family and my henchpeople, and nobody ever calls this late. It’s almost midnight, for hell’s sake.

Maybe I should stop fucking around and go pick it up. Now where the fuck is my phone?

_ records of various weird sounds as the phone is looked for. A click when the call is answered. _

-Hello? –

_ -Dark Storm? – _

__

Ok, this is new. Who in the bloody hell calls you in the middle of the night when they don’t even know you? This is not even my supervillain number. This is _my_ number.

What. The fuck.

-Who am I talking to? –

_ -I am legally prohibited to disclose this information on the phone. – _

__

-Are you serious? –

This must be a prank call. It’s not even that fun. But how the fuck did they get my number?

-Look, it’s late. And this is not fun. Leave me the fuck alone. –

_ -I am very serious. I’m calling you to inform you you’ve been summoned to the address I’ve just sent to your mail on January 26th at 0800 am. - _

__

-I’ve been what now? –

Let me check my mail, there’s no way they actually… oh. There it is. I kinda know this place. It’s in London. Something to do with the Government. 

Bloody hell.

-You can’t be serious. –

_ -Again, I am very serious Mr. Blackwood. And I’d like to advice against being late, on the 26th. – _

_ Beeping noise as the call is cut on the other side _ .

What. The bloody hell. Did just happen.

The phone doesn’t recognize the number. This asshole knew my name. And my villain name. I didn’t fuck up about it anywhere. I am sure I didn’t. So how the fuck… and what the hell does the fucking Queen want from me? I am a supervillain, Jesus, sure, but it’s not like I am anywhere close to bad enough to be, like, snatched by the Government, thrown in a cage and disappear forever from the public scene.

You know what? I am going to bed and I am going to listen to Welcome to Nightvale until I drop. Fuck it. I’ve had enough of this day.

I have to remember to buy some milk tomorrow. I think I am out.

__

__


	2. two

**_Log of January 26 th 2020, 7:50 am, Marvin T. Blackwood_ **

So here in am, in front of the door of the place they told me to go to and about ten minutes early too, because I am that kind of pathetic. I brought my neural recorder along because they probably won’t detect it and it backs up on my pc, so if I disappear at least my family is gonna know it’s the Government fault.

If I survive this, I could stop with the criminal life and, like, sell this thing to the army, or something. I am pretty sure they would kill for a device that records thoughts, if they came to know it exists.

I’m sure they would find applications for it.

Or maybe I could sell it as a selfcare thing: I am kind of really fucking nervous, and having this thing recording everything I think about is kind of comforting. Or at least it keeps me occupied: I’m trying so hard not to think of anything inappropriate and to keep my mind stream understandable that I physically don’t have enough brain space free to also be scared.

Not too scared at least.

Maybe I should have had breakfast. I didn’t feel like eating before leaving the flat and honestly I still don’t but I also think I am going to drop from a sugar deficit any second now and my head is spinning AND BLOODY HELL WHAT THE HELL DOES THE GOVERNMENT WANT FROM ME.

Ok. Ok. Calm down, Marvin. You haven’t done anything wrong. Except for living a life of crime for the last eight years… but they weren’t supposed to know that! How the hell did they even find out?

They know my name and have my number, for fuck’s sake!

Ok. Seriously now. Deep breaths. Whatever happened, it’s probably too late to fix it anyways. Also, they would have probably just come and arrested me if the fact that I am Dark Storm was the point of all of this situation.

At least nobody seems to be looking at me. Not with any hint of recognition anyways. That’s one of the reasons why I don’t go out often and don’t have any friends: my villain persona is stupidly similar to the real me. That’s why you shouldn’t start your career when you’re 17: you do this kind of stupid mistakes and then have to live with them for the rest of your miserable life.

So yeah, my supervillain persona is basically me. I mean, I usually keep my hair in a bun or something and I wear glasses, while Dark Storm wears his hair down and smudges black eyeliner (eye…shadow? I an never remember the difference) all around his eyes Winter Soldier style, but still. If everyone ever thought of getting a close look at me, it would be obvious.

Same haircut, same hair and eye color, same piercings… I don’t even wear a mask when I am Dark Storm, only the fucking eye liner!

Maybe that’s how they found me, after all.

But nobody seems to be recognizing me right now. Nobody ever recognizes me, because nobody looks at me. Also I am pretty sure they actively make the effort to make me look taller in the news.

Maybe I should ditch the Alchemist and find myself a short nemesis (maybe someone I can _actually_ hate) so the photographers in the various tv studios would have it a bit easier: it’s tough shit to make you look taller than you are when you’re like 5’5 and your opponent is well over 6.

Anyways, I am losing sight of the point here.

The door. The fucking door.

I hate red doors. There’s never anything good, behind a red door.

The doorbell tag is blank. Should I expect it to work if I push the button? I think I’ll knock instead.

Did I feed the little shit before leaving? I hope I did. Wait, leftovers. I gave her leftovers. Ok. The little shit probably won’t destroy my curtains again because she’s hungry.

So. Knocking? Yeah. Knocking should do it.

_Three knocks on the door_.

Did I knock hard enough? Did they hear me? Do I want them to hear me? Will they recognize me? Of course they will. That’s kind of the problem. Maybe there’s still time to turn and run.

_Steps approaching, from the other side of the door._

Too late I guess.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

_Handle turns, door squeaks as it opens._

_-Mr. Blackwood, I presume? –_

This woman is taller than me. Jesus why did I have to be born short? What did I do to piss you off so much, universe?

Would my voice sound weird if I answered? Probably. I always sound weird when I am this nervous. My uncle made me take a double dose of Xanax, the day I first appeared as Dark Storm: they were all very worried that I would have sounded ridiculous and ruined my career before it even started. I mean, I was 17, so I was going to sound ridiculous anyways, but that’s a detail. My voice used to squeak and bend weirdly a lot back then: it was still changing I guess. I was a late bloomer, or something like that.

Anyways, back on track. I should just nod and try to look scary.

It’s not easy with these glasses. They make me look like a nerd. Well I am a nerd, but nobody needs to know that.

_-You’re early. Please, follow me. The other one isn’t here yet. –_

She has a nice voice, but I must say I am not a fan of her hair. The shade of red they’re dyed of looks weird. Almost a bit off. But really, it it’s none of my business. I should not think these things about people.

I’m sorry, sis. You do you.

Wait. I got distracted. Again. I need to calm down… what does she mean by “the other one”? Am I supposed to know this? Did the creepy guy on the phone say anything about an “other one”? Why does this shit feel so much like a test I didn’t study for?

No. I am pretty sure nobody ever mentioned an “other one”.

I mean, not before she did, at least.

Wait where is she going? Hey, you, wait for me! My legs are short! And aren’t you gonna swipe me for bugs? Do you really trust me so much or do you have some kind of field all over the building? I hope my fucking neural recorder is recording.

_Two sets of steps as Marvin follows her in the house._

-What do you mean by “the other one”? –

Hey, my voice sounds almost normal. Nice.

_-I am not authorized to answer any questions. –_

Encouraging. In what kind of bullshit have I ended up?

-No questions. You guys call me in the middle of the night and tell me to show up here, but you are not gonna answer any question. –

_-Those are the orders. –_

-What’s two plus two? –

Ok, I should really shut up now before my supervillain poorly timed and very bad humor gets me killed. She looks like she could kill me.

The look she just shot me looked like it could have killed me.

I mean I could probably burn her to a cinder before she could even make a move, but I… I would really rather not to.

I don’t really like to burn people. Nope.

_A door opens, more walking noises as Marvin follows The Woman inside an office_.

_-Mr. Blackwood. –_

Ok, this guy is scary. If I didn’t know most supervillains don’t look anything like that, I’d say he looks like the classic James Bond nemesis. He’s old-ish, combed white hair, dark gray suit, the desk he’s sitting behind looks like it’s polished everyday with children tears… the classic James Bond villain. The only things he’s missing are the cat and the Russian accent.

He already sounds scary, he would sound terrifying if he had a Russian accent.

He has this deep voice and… speaking of voice, should I say something? Eh.

_-You’re early, but please: take a seat. Would you like a tea? Or coffee, perhaps? –_

He’s gesturing to a chair in front of the desk. It, too, looks as if it’s polished everyday with children tears.

I don’t want to sit there. Do I have a choice? I don’t want to get any closer than I really have to.

There’s two chairs. I guess the other one is for “the other”.

I’m gonna sit the fuck down and be done with it, before it becomes obvious that I am overthinking every single second of this experience.

_Scratching noise as the chair is moved on the marble floor and Marvin sits down._

It’s actually pretty comfortable. Good to know.

-I’m okay, thanks. –

I hope they know I am talking about the tea and coffee offer and not being sarcastic. Did I sound sarcastic? God, I hope not: I am probably in enough trouble already.

-Why I am I here? –

_-You’ll understand as soon as the other arrives. -_

“The other”. Again. Who the fuck are they talking about?

_The door squeaks as it opens again. One set of steps comes in._

_-Sorry, I am late. –_

_-Not at all, Mr. Alchemist. Please, sit down. –_

_The other chair is moved, the Alchemist sits down._

What the fuck he’s my nemesis doing here now and why… Oh. OH. So he’s the other.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I can’t believe it.

He’s… he’s not wearing his mask. HE HAS GREEN EYES, FOR FUCKS SAKE.

Not extremely green. It’s kind of a grayish green. But they are green. THEY ARE GREEN. And he… Jesus Christ, he looks even better in normal clothes than he looks in his blue hero suit.

Ok, I am staring. I am definitely staring.

He’s just… this is just so surreal. He’s the Alchemist, and he looks human when he’s wearing just a hoodie and a pair of jeans. He looks young. He looks… real. Which is ironic because nothing of this feels real at all.

I mean I am in a lavish office, probably in a government building, there’s a guy who looks like a James Bond nemesis and then there’s _my_ nemesis and… bloody hell.

And it’s Sunday! Nothing is ever supposed to happen on Sundays and look at this!

_-You’re probably wondering why you’ve been summoned here. -_

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

Wait.

Does this mean the Alchemist doesn’t know either? Is he surprised to see me here? He doesn’t look surprised. Vaguely displeased at best, but still: maybe he just had better things to do on a Sunday morning.

_-Now, what I am going to tell you is strictly confidential, and you absolutely can’t tell a soul, are we clear? Not to your families, not to your mates, not to your girlfriends. –_

As if I had any of those things. I mean, I do have a family but… well.

_-Three years ago, a team of archeologists found a roll of parchment inside one of the oldest Christian archives known to man. I can’t tell you the precise site of the finding, nor am I allowed to disclose any further info about the parchment: I can only tell you it was inscribed with what seemed to be a prophecy. It said that in three years a great blackness would have come and that only the Storm and the Alchemist together could have stopped it. –_

A fucking prophecy? Bloody hell. A fucking prophecy. How the hell are we supposed to…

_-Are you gentlemen on drugs or something?. –_

Precisely my thoughts. Thank you… collegue? I mean he sure isn’t my friend but we sorta work together? For opposite teams, sure but still?

_-I mean do you really expect us to believe there’s a fucking prophecy about us? –_

_-I am aware of how it sounds, and no one really believed it until now. But a week ago marked three years from the finding of the prophecy, and a… black thing has appeared. In the artic. –_

-A black thing? Like what? –

_-The scientists who have been hired to examine it think it’s a portal… and things are leaking out. Bad things. We have reasons to think you are the Alchemist and the Storm the prophecy talks about. –_

So, they’re expecting us to save the world. To defeat the blackness.

Bloody perfect.

-And what exactly do you expect us to do? –

_-The prophecy says you will defeat it. –_

_-Yeah, sure. Does it also say how? And I’m sure you noticed, but the tosser here is a villain. Do you really expect him to help? –_

Well fuck you, too.

-I’m sure you noticed, but I live on this bloody planet just as much as you do, love. –

Great, my voice squeaked. Fucking kill me.

-I’ll help if I have to. –

_-So you believe in this shit? –_

Jesus Christ. Do I? Also his eyes are green. GREEN. I know it’s stupid and that I already had my crisis on this detail before but they are GREEN for fuck’s sake.

-I know that the Government has my number. And yours, apparently. Do you think they’d bother with either of us if this wasn’t true? –

_-Jesus Christ. –_

_The man behind the desk loudly clears his throat._

_-The prophecy doesn’t say how to defeat the blackness, but it does say you have to go inside it. –_

So they want us to jump into something that might be a portal that leaks bad things.

Bloody perfect. I want to go home.


End file.
